Black Blind Eyes
by venlo
Summary: Harry follows Sirius through the Veil to a land where friends are not quite friends, family is not quite family, and enemies are not quite enemies. In the strange darkness of the other country, all Harry can do is search for some sort of constant - Sirius, avoiding setback and betrayal on the journey. Alternate universe, hopefully the same Harry.
1. Familiar Places

**Black Blind Eyes.**

**Chapter 1: Familiar Places.**

_Only one pair was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix' jet of red light: he was laughing at her._

_'Come on, you can do better than that!' he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room._

_The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest._

_The laughter had not quite died off his face, but his eyes widened in shock._

_Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned towards the dais. It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch._

_Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his god-father's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in high wind, then fell back into place._

_Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing - Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second..._

_But Sirius did not reappear._

_'SIRIUS!' Harry yelled. 'SIRIUS!'_

_He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out..._

Within mere seconds, although to Harry it could have been hours, he had reached the dais, but a strong hand lunged out to grab his shoulder.

'Harry –', Lupin started, but received a furious glare in return, and found his hand empty as Harry, possessed with a desperate strength, tore himself free of the werewolf's grasp. Clambering onto the raised platform he found himself facing the veil, gently fluttering in an ethereal breeze.

Unthinking, uncomprehending, Harry thrust his hand deep into the archway, and knew instantly it was a huge mistake. Some unseen, otherworldly force seemed to seize hold of his outstretched hand. Even as he dug his feet into the floor and braced his other hand against the archway, he realised the force was too strong to resist.

The soft whispers of the Veil had turned to screams in his ears, drowning out the voices of his friends behind him. Turning his head slowly, a sad smile crossing his face as he looked upon them – Lupin, Neville, even Dumbledore – and then, in an instant, he was gone, the boy-who-lived lifted off his feet and yanked sharply forward, seeing nothing but... blackness.

Harry Potter was no longer of this world.

* * *

Harry was speechless. Well, speaking was the last thing on his mind right now. What the hell was wrong with the Veil? He had simply fallen through a piece of cloth hanging in an archway – now he was – well, he hadn't a clue as to where he was or what was happening. Perhaps he shouldn't be so shocked, magic being magic and everything, but come on...

The sensation he was feeling though, it was difficult to describe. Weightlessness akin to what he imagined muggle astronauts must experience, a disconcerting feeling of... disconnection. He could just about feel the pounding of blood on his temples, a sharp prickling at his extremities and a most distressing pressure behind his eyeballs, as if to force them out of their sockets if it weren't for his tightly closed eyelids. The closest thing Harry could compare it to from his own experiences would be a portkey journey, only multiplied tenfold, and with the stomach disturbing effects of being kicked in the crotch. In a word he was _uncomfortable._

Harry's other senses seemed to be rendered obsolete. He couldn't hear anything but the roaring wind as it rushed past his face, tearing at his cheeks and tugging at his hair in an excruciating manner. Harry dared to open his eyes for a split second, but quickly scrunched them back up again as the unnaturally powerful wind threatened to tug them from their sockets. However, for the brief moment he could see, he had glimpsed a blinding flash of blue electricity sparking right in front of his face, burning its image into his retinas.

As Harry opened his mouth his scream was snatched from his tongue, along with the rest of his breath before he could react.

The wind had finally broken Harry's glasses and tugged them off his face, or at least he assumed so when he felt something – _somethings – _sharp impact with his face, gouging into his face, and a searing pain for a few seconds before it was drowned out by the gales grasping at his body. Harry prayed they weren't his glasses, but he didn't hold much hope in his prayer.

Come to think of it, if his glasses had broken what about his wand? Harry swore loudly, although he had no chance of hearing it over the raging din. He couldn't feel in his hand. He knew he had brought it with him into the Veil; he'd had it when Dumbledore arrived, and now he didn't have it. His loyal eleven inch, holly and phoenix feather wand was gone.

Harry screamed in anguish, only this time he heard the sound of his voice.

He screamed again, and again, and again, and again, over and over, releasing the frustration, pain, sorrow, and the healthy dose of fear within him. Then he realised why he could hear his voice. The wind that had terrorised him since before his entry into the Veil had stopped.

With this new revelation, Harry tentatively blinked his eyes open for a fraction of a second. Then opened them permanently. Despite his lack of glasses, Harry could plainly see in front of him a wall of whiteness, pure and unspoilt, and something else.

A blurred figure, ragged hair floating listlessly about their face like a strange black halo.

'SIRIUS!' Harry screamed out and the figure turned towards him, eyes widening in shock.

'Harry!' he called back. 'Stay put, I'm coming to get you!'

But even as the words had left his godfather's mouth Harry felt his body being tugged gently away. Gritting his teeth, he started to swim, much like he had seen astronauts move in films back with the Dursleys. So close, the distance between them was shortening, before his fist clenched around his godfather's hand.

'Harry,' he said, his voice laden with solemnity. 'What happened? How – why?'

'I tried to get you back, but the Veil was too strong, it sucked me in, there was nothing I could do.'

'Oh Harry,' Sirius said, shaking his head softly. 'Always a Gryffindor.'

'Always,' replied Harry, but before he could say anymore he felt a sharp tug at his feet. 'Sirius –' he cried out, seeing his godfather's eyes open wide, alarm clouding his face, before the two of them were torn forcefully apart.

'Harry!' Sirius called out, as the distance between their outstretched hands went from mere inches to feet. 'Don't move,' he screamed out, but there was nothing Harry could do to stop the inexorable drift away from his godfather.

'I can't stop it Sirius! Help me! PLEASE!'

'I'm so sorry Harry,' Sirius seemed to whisper, although Harry could hear it as clearly as if it had been spoken into his ear. 'Whatever happens, to me or to you, wherever we end up, I will look for you, and I will find you.'

Harry hung in the air, struggling futilely against the force separating him from his godfather, before blinking; a fraction of a second, and Sirius was gone.

'Not if I find you first,' was Harry's murmured reply as he stared blankly into the abyss.

Looking around, Harry seemed to be in some sort of circular tube, formed out of the same white substance in front of him. It was only then that Harry felt that he was falling – although plummeting may have been a better term for it – as yet again the wind seemed to rush past him, though lacking the unearthly strength that had brought him through the Veil and separated him from his godfather.

Suddenly he saw something black below him, seemingly coming up to meet him at an incredible speed. Or was he going down to meet it, he briefly pondered...

Harry had just enough time to emit a choice curse before he hit the ground with a sickening crunch. Technically he was also vomiting during these processes – something he would later realise when he regained consciousness.

* * *

Harry awoke to find himself lying face down on a black flag-stoned floor, seemingly lying in a pool of vomit. His own vomit he realised as he recalled the previous hour's events. He groaned loudly, before rolling onto his back and out of the former contents of his stomach. When he'd signed up to be boy-who-lived, Harry hadn't expected this. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember signing anything...

Staring upwards Harry could see a familiar, yet eerily different sight. The ornate golden ceiling of the Department of Mysteries, exactly as it had been mere minutes earlier. Or was it hours? Harry shook his head, no there was a difference. A smattering of brown covered areas of the ceiling; spread over such a large area that he didn't need his glasses to see it.

Thinking of his glasses, Harry was rather shocked when the very same wire-rimmed spectacles came hurtling out of nowhere, accompanied by an unnatural surge of wind, to land with a squelch into the pile of gloop Harry had recently vomited. They were missing their lenses, reminding Harry of their breakage within the Veil's vortex. He gently placed a grazed palm to his head, judging the damage they had done.

Although several gouges were raked across his cheeks, none of them seemed to be bleeding much. However, his nose seemed to be leaking copious amounts of blood, and Harry could taste a copper tang as it trickled along the edge of his mouth. He prodded it, before wincing at the sharp pain. He must have broken it upon impact with the floor.

Harry's wand was nowhere to be seen, though he half expected it to drop out of the Veil at any moment. Groaning, he picked himself up off the cold floor and stretched himself out. Looking around, Harry could see that he was in the same room as before, but all his friends, Order of the Phoenix members, and Death Eaters were gone. Not that he had expected them to be here – if they were they would have at least tried to help him – or curse him in the case of the Death Eaters.

Harry glanced at the dais that had supported the original Veil he had fallen through, but it stood empty. The Veil had disappeared. Harry considered the oddness of constructing a dais with nothing to put upon it. Unless he was not _meant _to go back.

Even Harry knew the dead did not come back to life.

He had half expected to see Sirius, as badly bruised and beaten as he was, lying somewhere about the room, but he was missing. Perhaps he had gone on before Harry had arrived, or maybe he was still stuck in the vortex like his phoenix-feather wand. Harry fervently hoped for the first option.

Harry glanced about the room hoping to spy an exit, and saw it in the closed door to his right. Uncertain about leaving his wand behind, but unwilling to stay in the room any longer than he had to, Harry approached with caution. Perhaps this was all an elaborate trap laid by Voldemort and his followers, though what they had hoped to achieve was beyond him, and it still didn't explain – well it didn't explain anything really. It was much more likely he was dead, and it astonished him how well he was taking it. Reaching the door, he was rather relieved when it opened smoothly, without a creak. Surprising really, considering its weight and obvious age.

The sight outside, though, was a huge shock. Harry knew that he and his friends' latest escapade had been particularly destructive. He just hadn't expected it to be _this_ destructive.

The floor of the corridor was scored with long cracks, almost ravines, running along its length, and the corridor itself was tilted, one side definitely lay a foot, if not more, higher than the other. It looked like large chunks had been blasted out of the walls as well, but what most worried – and intrigued – Harry the most were the reddish-brown splashes along the walls. It was unmistakably blood, and for the first time since his exit from the Veil Harry was truly scared.

What the hell had happened here?

Harry was beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that he had died and gone to Hell. Or purgatory at the very least. For sure he couldn't imagine any sort of heaven like this, unless... he wasn't dead. Maybe the Veil had sent him through time, rather than into the afterlife. Harry had to concede it was unlikely, but it was still a much more preferable option to being in Hell.

Harry continued onwards, more wary now, although there seemed to be no visible signs of life. The corridors of the once proud Ministry of Magic were eerily quiet, and all he could smell was the faint stench of death...

And even that seemed to be diminishing with decay, much like the rest of the building. Pushing through the last door he entered the foyer of the Atrium. The last time he had been here it was bustling with busy civil servants, going about their business without giving Harry or his friends a second glance. It was enough to make him wonder just how often desperate gangs of wand-wielding teenagers stormed the ministry.

As a strange, although not entirely unsurprising feeling of vulnerability began to take hold of him, Harry wished he still had his wand. Sure, last year when he had faced off against Lord Voldemort, or the previous year with the devastating werewolf/dementor combination, he had been in more obvious _danger_, he had always had his trusty wand with him. Now he felt naked without it. Steeling his mind and subconsciously balling up his fists, the Boy-who-lived continued onwards.

The Atrium was as deserted as the rest of this lifeless ministry. The once proud golden statue of the wizarding world's diverse inhabitants was horrifically mangled. Not destroyed, but changed. The witch and wizard who had once been the focal point were now bent over, kneeling before the goblin which in turn looked down upon them with an imperious scowl, brandishing a wand and a whip. Said goblin was also mounted upon the centaur, whose stance didn't seem to have changed since Harry had last seen the fountain.

Harry wondered what had become of the house elf, until he saw its decapitated head lying in a corner of the room. Evidently it hadn't been needed.

Harry couldn't understand why the fountain would be like this. He couldn't imagine any wizard bowing down to a goblin, much less the centaur allowing the pitiful creature to ride it like a pack animal. Either this was a bizarre, yet well-perpetrated prank, or goblins had taken over the ministry and redecorated. Harry reckoned goblins must make crap interior designers.

And why had the house elf been so brutally mangled? Harry knew people treated them like slaves, but nobody could really hate a house elf (exceptions for Kreacher of course), as they were willing and obedient servants. It seemed to Harry that things were making less and less sense the more he saw in this place. Was he dead, in the future, or was this all an elaborate death eater plot? Harry couldn't know but it was certainly creeping him out.

He just wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

Spinning around in a full circle, Harry spotted a battered looking telephone box. He strode, almost running, straight towards it, eager to leave the eerie, echoing building, and its blood-stained walls. Harry prayed the lift would be in a working condition. Although it was, to the best of his knowledge, the only direct exit to the rest of Diagon Alley, its working mechanism could easily have decayed or even been destroyed.

Harry prodded the numbers six-two-four-four-two into the receiver, and was relieved when the lift juddered into action. The movements were far from smooth but at least it worked. Harry's heart began to beat faster in his chest as he anticipated his entrance onto Diagon Alley. Would it be as different as the Ministry of Magic, or would it be the same as he remembered?

Harry doubted it could have changed too much. The Ministry was only one building, but the alley was many, and in the minds of a lot of wizards, more important.

How wrong he was.

* * *

Stepping out into the once lively street was liked entering a graveyard.

That had been hit by a meteor shower. Several times.

Perhaps that was a little extreme, but Harry was still bowled over. Less so than he would have been if he hadn't already travelled through the abandoned ministry, but shocked nonetheless.

The ministry had been devoid of life, showing signs of a fierce battle. The Alley, however only displayed what Harry guessed as numerous smaller skirmishes, with a good number of buildings destroyed, but more simply abandoned in a _relatively_ organised manner. It showed that the Alley's inhabitants had had at least some time to prepare for their leaving.

Yet it had been only a few hours since the Alley had been a hub of activity. Something strange was going on. Harry considered this was an understatement if ever there was one.

The sky at that moment was almost jet black and starless, the street illuminated only by the light of the full moon hanging ominously in the sky. Despite not having his glasses, Harry was thankful for the solitary source of light; he wouldn't much have fancied being on the street in pitch darkness.

Harry slowly moved over the cobbles, feeling his way with his feet past around those that had been uprooted and destroyed. At first he decided to stick to the centre of the road, to give himself a better view if something was about to attack him out of the shadows. Needless to say, it wasn't long before Harry was finding himself drawn to look closer at the buildings he had come to know so well over the past five years.

Casting his eyes around, Harry could just about make out Ollivander's wand shop. Its windows had been boarded up, but it looked to have gotten off much lighter than the neighbouring store; Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Harry approached it slowly, unable to resist the temptation to see what had happened to his favourite shop first-hand. He gave the door a hefty shove, but found it was locked. Harry contented himself by looking through the window. The top half of the window seemed to be badly broken, but the bottom half had held together with only a few long cracks running through it. The shop's interior was a wreck; most of it was stained black as if there had been a fire.

Harry was broken out of his reverie by a low, menacing growl, and he quickly glanced in its direction. The sight almost caused him to wretch on the spot. If his stomach had not been emptied after the journey through the Veil he would have done. An unrecognisable, mostly rotted corpse lay on the floor, marked by numerous small bite marks. Like it had been used for something's dinner.

And Harry could see whose dinner it had been. A family of gnomes had somehow managed to tear an arm off the poor wizard (or witch, Harry couldn't tell), and were gnawing on it like rats.

What could have caused ordinary garden gnomes to resort to eating human beings? Harry didn't want to stick around and find out. He slowly backed off, hoping the gnomes had not seen him.

_Scared of gnomes_ Harry thought to himself. _This would have been unthinkable twenty-four hours ago._

Harry continued down the Alley now at a half-run, the latest incident had really scared him. He wasn't sure if it was the almost alien nature the gnomes were showing, or the bizzarity of the sequence of events occurring that day. He didn't really care though; he only wanted to leave the Alley as quickly as possible now.

However, one sign seen out of the corner of his eye stopped Harry in his tracks. A street stand called 'Mick's Corner Shop'. Harry had seen it often enough before, and although it hadn't been too badly damaged it had obviously been abandoned long ago. A few loose sheaves of paper drifted gently along the ground beside it, carried in the cool night breeze. But Harry had an idea. His eyes widened in mute surprise as he seized the first newspaper from the stand. He grabbed another, and another, and another. He didn't need his glasses to see they all read the same thing: Saturday 6th May, 1992. Four years ago. The Alley had obviously been abandoned years before, but... none of it made sense. The headline below caught his eye.

_LAST GREAT HOPE DIES AT TEACHER'S HAND by Rita Skeeter._

_...Neville Longbottom, the young protégé of Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore, and prophesied 'Chosen One', was confirmed dead last night, supposedly at the hands of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Professor Quirinius Quirrel. It seems that Quirrel, believed to be an unmarked Death Eater, infiltrated the Hogwarts faculty at the behest of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with the intention of assassinating young master Longbottom. It has been confirmed that Longbottom died late on Thursday evening after being struck by the Killing Curse. Autopsies indicate the twelve-year-old suffered long exposure to the Cruciatus Curse before he died. It is currently unknown whether Quirrel also intended to kill Headmaster Dumbledore, but..._

Without his glasses it took a while to read, but as he finished Harry dropped the newspaper to the floor, balling his fists with frustration. 'WHAT. THE FUCK. IS GOING ON!' he cried out into the abandoned Alley, emotions overcoming whatever caution he had. Immediately he regretted it.

Harry suddenly spun round, hearing a rustling noise from behind him. Perhaps he was being paranoid... perhaps not.

An instant later his ears were assaulted by a shrill cry, as small scaly hands latched around his neck, attempting to wring it like a chicken's. Harry emitted a shocked cry and not knowing what else to do, grabbed a handful of newspaper and began whacking at whatever creature had latched onto him.

A few seconds of suffering Harry's panicked swipes made the creature let go, falling to the floor. Harry quickly turned to face his opponent, holding the now rolled-up newspaper like a sword. Sprawled in front of him was a goblin. Its eyes had glazed over, and it bared its yellow fangs as it laughed cruelly. It looked withered with hardship and starvation, but much to Harry's surprise was very sprightly. In a split second it was back on its feet, ducking below Harry's rushed swipe, and latching onto his upper thigh with its rotting yellow teeth.

Harry fell back, struggling to remove the clearly unhinged goblin, but the creature had wrapped its scaly arms around the back of his leg and wasn't letting go.

All of a sudden the goblin released Harry from its grip and scuttled off into the shadows. Harry gave a cry of victory, but wondered why the ugly green beast had given up so easily.

A low-pitched growling noise made him turn around suddenly and Harry got his answer.

Standing on all fours in front of him was a huge animal. A wolf. Its ear pressed back against its head, bulging muscles tensed to strike, and a snarl on its mouth displayed an impressive set of teeth.

'Oh shit,' said Harry.

Harry follows Sirius through the Veil to a land where friends are not quite friends, family is not quite family, and enemies are not quite enemies. In the strange darkness of the other country, all Harry can do is search for some sort of constant - Sirius, avoiding setback and betrayal on the journey. Alternate universe, hopefully the same Harry.


	2. Familiar Faces

**Black Blind Eyes.**

**Chapter 2: Familiar Faces.**

In the split second before what he presumed would be his gruesome death, Harry leapt over the newspaper stand and landed on the other side with a surprising grace. Now that there was an obstacle between him and the animal, Harry reached for his wand in his back pocket. It wasn't there, and he cursed when he remembered why.

'Why didn't I think to nick one from Ollivander's when I had the chance?' he muttered to himself under his breath.

Harry could see he the wolf was no ordinary animal. It was a werewolf. Its soulless white eyes glinted in the light of the full moon as it opened its enormous jaws to release an almighty roar. Harry dropped to the floor and scrunched up his eyes tightly, in the vain hope his death would be a quick one. Instead nothing happened.

Now he heard voices. Someone yelled '_Stupefy'_, and he heard a whimper, then a roar from the werewolf. Harry decided the wolf was probably preoccupied and so chanced a look over the stand. A short, fat man, dressed in a garish purple and white pinstriped suit seemed to be battling the werewolf to a standstill.

Harry watched, paralyzed with fear. Heart beating a mile a minute, sweat pouring off his face, he didn't know what to do. If he made a run for it now he could probably escape, but... he couldn't abandon the fat man who had effectively just saved his life. Then again, wandless and half blind as he was, he wasn't exactly capable of helping out either.

Harry winced as his saviour made a surprisingly nimble roll to avoid the beast's swiping claws, but landed hard on a piece of broken glass. The man seemed undeterred however, despite the fact that Harry could see a trail of blood running down his elbow, and cast off a nasty looking green curse at the wolf.

This seemed to make the animal even angrier as it lunged forward, jaws snapping at its foe. Harry could see the short man was about to die, but at the last possible moment he saw the man whisper something, and the wolf fell to its side, howling in pain.

Harry could see the creature's maw was bleeding profusely from a series of small cuts. It staggered backwards, giving the man a chance to glance around and spot Harry.

'You there, distract it for a bit!' he called out, turning to face him. Harry knew he recognised the man, but couldn't quite place his face. That said he did have other things on his mind right now.

Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, Harry felt he owed his new ally for saving his life, and so yelled out at the wolf, chucking a broken cobblestone as he hard as he could at it. The stone bounced harmlessly off its forehead, but at least it got the animal's attention. The werewolf seemed to instantly forget the fat man, and began to stalk over to Harry who crouched behind his barricade.

Harry spared a glance behind his back looking for a possible escape route, but he knew he would never make it to shelter before he was pounced on and ripped to bloody pieces. Grabbing a newspaper, Harry swung it ineffectually at the beast. It didn't even blink. Now it was just in front of the newspaper stand, with its front paws resting on top. For the second time in ten minutes Harry knew he was going to die.

The wolf reared up and... screamed. It sounded oddly human.

Twisting around the beast cantered off, but Harry could see something on its side glittering in the moonlight.

'Silver dart,' grunted the fat man as he walked over to Harry. 'I'm-'

Recognition dawned on Harry as he saw his saviour face to face. 'It's you,' he choked out. 'You betrayed my parents! I'll kill you, you basta-'

Harry was stopped mid-sentence as he lunged for the man's throat. But he was too quick, and had already stunned Harry before he could make impact.

Unconsciousness gripped Harry for the second time in a night, but his last thought was as to why Peter Pettigrew would want to save his life...

* * *

Harry awoke with a loud groan, and opened his eyes carefully to find that he couldn't see anything. He was in complete darkness. Attempting to rub his tired eyes, Harry now found that his hands had been tied with a rope – or at least it felt like rope – and without his wand he knew he didn't have any real chance of escaping his bonds. The stone floor he lay on was cold stone, colder even than the chilly air that made the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end. Harry had to assume Wormtail had tied him up, and it was now only a matter of minutes before more Death Eaters, or even Voldemort himself turned up. Harry doubted he would survive that encounter.

Tears were beginning to well in his eyes and Harry didn't think he had ever felt so hopeless. 'Oh God,' he muttered to himself. 'It can't end like this. Not now. Not here.'

Then Harry heard something in the darkness. The low wheezing laughter, of something that hadn't laughed in a long time. 'So you're awake then?' said the laughing voice. 'I was beginning to wonder if you'd died.'

'Who's there?' asked Harry startled, as he slowly shuffled his body away from the voice's source.

'Don't be scared,' the voice rasped. 'I'm all tied up too. Name's Griphook,' it added.

'The goblin?' asked Harry, slightly bewildered.

'Why yes. I suppose we've met before then stranger. And what's your name then?'

'Harry,' said Harry, and then cursed himself for using his real name. 'Harry Dursley. What is this place?' he asked the goblin carefully.

'I do believe we're in the cellar of the Leaky Cauldron, the entrance to Diagon Alley from the muggle world,' the goblin answered. Harry couldn't help but notice the goblin still talked as if it worked in a bank.

'So You-Know-Who owns the Cauldron then? How the hell did that happen?' he asked, genuinely surprised. 'There's no way Tom's gone over to the dark side!'

'Tom? The barkeep?' the goblin started to cackle softly. 'I haven't seen him since that insurance scam he tried to pull back in '86, but I presume he's probably set up shop on Fudge Lane by now. As for the two men who're holed up here at the moment I don't know. Two weeks back the Ministry started flooding the Alley, and left them behind, probably to keep watch on... something. Maybe me, maybe – say how did they get you?' The goblin sounded almost curious.

Harry paused for a moment, unsure of how much he should be telling a goblin he had only just met. From snide comments that had been made by Bill Weasley over the course of many family dinners at the Burrow, he knew that goblins had a mentality somewhat alien to wizards and witches. Not to mention the suspicious circumstances he had found himself in – and with the arrival of Wormtail on the scene this could all be one, admittedly elaborate, Death Eater plot.

But then... 'Fuck it,' Harry decided. If the Death Eaters already had him, Griphook might be his only chance of escape, so building up a degree of trust could be important. 'Would you believe me if I told you I fell through an archway, it spat me out in the Department of Mysteries, and then I was attacked by a bloody werewolf?'

'You don't say,' replied Griphook carefully. 'The two men staying here moved me upstairs for the night so the werewolf could transform in here, and then he escaped into the Alley. They weren't exactly quiet about it. As for the other things you mentioned – perhaps it was a portal of some sort.'

A sense of irrepressible curiosity began to grow in Harry. 'A portal?'

'Like a permanent portkey Mr Dursley. Except you don't have to say anything to activate it, you simply step through and – where was it you entered the portal?'

Harry ran an uncertain hand through his hair. 'I went through the portal in the Department of Mysteries, and came out in the same place, but _Different_...' Harry tailed off, unsure how to explain the peculiar situation.

''Different' can mean many things,' Griphook answered sagely. 'What was different about it?'

'Oh, you know, just everything,' said Harry. 'Blood everywhere, Diagon Alley abandoned, that statue in the Ministry... literally nothing is the same.' He was a little unsure how to get his point across, but the newspaper he had seen earlier suggested that the changes that had occurred must have happened within the last few years.

Griphook murmured something to himself, seemingly deep in contemplation. Suddenly he spoke up. 'What year was it when you came through the portal?'

'1996 – July, the 20th I think,' replied Harry, deciding it could only help to be give as much detail as possible.

It occurred to Harry that in the cloying darkness of the room he had not actually seen his newest friend. Or perhaps that should be _only_ friend. In fact, Harry realised with a worried start, he had no idea what the goblin's intentions were. What if he was talking to a troll? After all, Griphook could be a troll name, and when Harry said he was a goblin, the creature had simply run with it in order to lull himself into a false sense of security to – what? Eat him? Harry realised that perhaps he was being foolish and paranoid, although at least any feeling of paranoia was slightly justified. And anyway, trolls were meant to stink, and the worst smell in the room was him, covered in dried vomit as he was.

'Then I don't know,' the goblin answered, interrupting Harry from his reverie. 'I thought perhaps you may have come forward in time from some point in the past, but if what you say is true, you entered the portal two weeks ago, which isn't long enough back that things could have changed so drastically.'

'What?' asked Harry, momentarily confused. 'Oh right, well there's another possibility,' he added helpfully, politely attempting to make it seem like he had been paying attention. 'I might be dead, and this is heaven. Or hell.'

Griphook started to make an alarming choking noise, and it was a moment before Harry realised he was laughing. Uproariously. As the 'laughter' subsided, the goblin spoke up once more. 'Hell, yes, that would explain a lot of things. But then what happens if you die here then Mr Dursley? Is there an afterlife for the denizens of hell?'

'I don't know,' said Harry, conceding the goblin's point. 'But I suppose I'll find out soon enough.'

'Oh really, and why is that?'

'The man who tied me up works for You-Know-Who. It's only a matter of time before he arrives.' Harry was unsure whether he should have told Griphook this – after all, he had no idea who the goblin was working for, but then he had been surprisingly informative and useful to Harry, and had thankfully believed – or at least seemed to believe – his frankly ludicrous claims. Personally, if their situations had been reversed, Harry may not have been so quick to accept such a claim.

Griphook clicked his teeth in a manner Harry assumed signalled a sense of surprised interest. 'Really, and I was certain they worked for the Ministry. I suppose we should make good our escape then, do you have a wand?'

'Unfortunately no.' Harry mentally berated himself for not having waited a little longer before he had gone exploring. After all it would have been in keeping with his recent run of luck that his wand would come out of the portal as soon as he has left the room.

'Well then how are you at wandless magic?'

'Well I once transfigured a Cleansweep 5 into a porcupine, but that _may_ have been accidental,' Harry said, smiling fondly at the memory. Fred Weasley had needed 5 stitches.

'That's... actually quite impressive. From what little I know about broomsticks, they're meant to be _very_ difficult to magically interfere with. Do you know any other wandless magic?' Griphook said, making Harry feel slightly chuffed with himself.

'Absolutely nothing,' Harry replied cheerfully, and he heard the goblin sigh with exasperation somewhere in the darkness.

'Well we're going to have some difficulty getting out of this room then aren't we? I tried barging it down with my shoulder a few times earlier, but had no luck. It's solid oak, and I'm a runt, even for a goblin'.

'Maybe we should concentrate on one problem at a time,' replied Harry, 'it might be best if we get out of these binds before we go for the door.'

'Don't worry about that, I chewed through my bonds hours ago,' he replied. 'First decent meal I've had in ages.' Harry heard his wheezy laughter in the darkness. 'Stay still and I'll get yours off.'

As the goblin shuffled over and began to chew through the ropes binding his hands, Harry had to wonder at how strange a sight they must have made but for the impenetrable darkness. Wearing glasses that lacked lenses, nose and chin caked in dried blood, and shirt soaked in vomit, Harry knew he must look dreadful. He smelt dreadful too, though to Griphook's credit he hadn't complained about the stench.

'You know I was attacked by a goblin in Diagon Alley, just before I was brought here,' said Harry as he flexed his newly freed arms.

'That will be old Spikkabrak; we've been watching him for awhile now. We were quite surprised that the Ministry didn't find him when they were searching the place a few weeks back, but us goblins do have a strong sense of self-preservation'.

'Why were you watching him?' Harry asked, rubbing gingerly at his sore wrists as they were released.

'Now that would be confidential information,' Griphook replied. Harry felt that if he could see it, the goblin would have winked at him. 'Now about this door, any ideas?'

'Have you searched the room for keys?' Harry felt it might be best to start with the obvious, but Griphook seemed a little offended.

'I _was_ a Gringotts goblin you know,' it replied a little huffily. 'I searched for a key as soon as I gnawed my way through those bonds. Believe me when I say this room is devoid of keys.'

Harry decided it was best not to irritate the goblin any further, so decided to try and barge through the door instead. However, despite their combined efforts, he had to concede that a scrawny fifteen-year-old and a three-foot goblin were not going to be particularly capable of any task requiring brute strength.

Suddenly Harry was struck with a bolt of inspiration. 'Griphook,' he said, voice barely repressing a mixture of urgency and excitement. 'Do you know how to pick locks?'

'I do,' the goblin replied.

'So can you pick the lock?'

To Harry's surprise, he heard the creature make a strange hissing sound. 'Can I pick the lock? Me, a Gringott's goblin? We guard locks, we did not PICK THEM!'

Reeling back slightly, Harry was shocked by the sudden aggression emanating from his companion. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know you were so...' he struggled for the right word, but not finding it resorted to his first thought... 'anal, about picking locks.'

Griphook exhaled slowly in the darkness, before speaking, his voice calm, but imperceptibly higher than previously. 'You do not know much about goblins, do you? Well, I suppose you are a wizard and your folk have never really cared to learn from the greater races (here Harry had to bite back a scathing remark), but to goblins locks are sacred. They are not to be tampered with. That's why Gringott's employs wizards as curse breakers,' he said emphatically.

Harry was slightly impressed by this new insight into goblin culture, but pressed on regardless, pointing out that Griphook had been perfectly willing to barge down the door earlier.

'I admit that I'm not the most devout of Goblins, you could say I'm a lapsed Grode. But whilst breaking a lock is bad, to actually interfere with the mechanisms...' he tailed off, before spitting on the floor.

Harry wanted to ask what a Grode was, but didn't particularly fancy a long lecture on the socio-economic traditions of the goblin religion, or whatever it was Griphook felt like lecturing him on. They were in a hurry after all. 'But you wouldn't mind if I picked the lock?'

'If you don't mind being reincarnated as a flobber-worm, be my guest. But do you have the tools, and more to the point, do you even know _how_ to pick this lock?'

'Well I have the tools,' Harry replied, slowly fishing his broken glasses from his pocket. 'My friend Ron told me you need to jam something thin in the lock and then use something else to rotate around it. We can use my broken glasses if I snap the arms off. I just don't how to actually _pick_ the lock.'

'That might work,' Griphook conceded, sounding thoughtful. 'Yes, if you pick the lock, and I direct you how to do it – yes, that could well work'.

With a snap Harry broke the mangled remains of his trusty spectacles, and after a couple of tries, the bolt in the door softly clicked out of place. 'Bingo,' Harry whispered softly.

* * *

Harry stepped cautiously into the dark corridor, wincing as he scraped his head painfully on the low ceiling. Like the cellar there was absolutely no light, and Harry had to feel his way along, hands groping at the cold stone walls. He could hear Griphook's rattling breath as they moved along, but neither of them dared to speak. Too risky.

Finally they reached some small steps that lead up to a heavy wooden door. Harry slowly extended a hand, hoping that it wasn't locked or cursed, but it twisted open smoothly and without a squeak. He found himself in a familiar hallway, facing the painting of an elderly man, a scholar, which Harry vaguely remembered from his last stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He wondered if the portrait would give his position away, but found he needn't have worried. A large chunk of the scholar's face had been ripped off by what seemed to be a massive clawed swipe.

To the left of the portrait was the dining area and bar. Again Harry wished he still had his wand. He doubted he could ever become an auror with carelessness like that. Then again, he doubted he would ever _live_ to even attempt the exams.

Harry curse his wandering thoughts as he moved down the hall, wincing with every creak of the ancient floorboards, and praying nobody was in the dining room to hear the noise. Eventually he made it to the end, followed by Griphook, and peered around the corner.

Past the chairs and tables, most of which were missing chunks and lying on their sides, Harry could see two men reclining by the bar. One was short and fat, wearing the same gaudy suit Harry had last seen him in. 'Pettigrew,' he spat the name in a contemptible whisper.

The other man was also wearing a suit, just as shabby as Pettigrew's, but of a dark brown colour. He also had short brown hair, but without his glasses Harry could make out very little else. Harry was vaguely reminded of Professor Lupin, making him wonder just how long it had been since his former teacher had attempted to stop him jumping into the Veil.

The man must have said something funny as Pettigrew let out a snort of laughter. Ignoring them, Harry cast his eyes around the room searching for the exit into the muggle side of London. He spotted it on the other side of the bay. Harry cursed softly; they would never make it across unseen.

Still, they would have to try, or be trapped with their captors for the foreseeable future. He and Griphook would simply have to hide behind the scattered furniture, hope neither Pettigrew nor his companion turn around, and be as silent as possible. A tall order, especially with a goblin in tow, but Harry couldn't see any other options.

Harry turned to Griphook and motioned towards the exit, and silently tried to signal the goblin to follow him. Quietly, Harry lowered himself to his hands and knees, before crawling out behind an upturned table roughly a metre away. The next table was reached with a similar process. Harry heard the unknown man bark out a laugh. Hopefully the two would keep each other occupied.

Making his way further across the room, Harry slipped behind a couple of broken chairs and a table that had been tipped on its side. Now he froze. Beyond his current hiding place, the only cover left was a single, miraculously unscathed, pot plant right next to the exit doorway.

In a second of pause Harry made up his mind to make a dash for freedom. He could easily make it to the doorway before his captors could apprehend him. As Griphook crawled up alongside him, Harry pointed at the exit, and began to count down from five with his fingers; five, four, three, two, one –

Adrenalin pumping in his veins, Harry sprinted across the room. Both the men turned around, yet did nothing to stop him. But just as Harry's hand grasped the metal of the doorknob, his leg brushed the pot plant...

Before he even realised anything was wrong, Harry found himself hanging upside down from the ceiling in a rope net. 'Bollocks,' he said loudly.

To add insult to injury Griphook seemed to have made it out unscathed, and into muggle London. 'Just my luck,' said Harry, shaking his head.

'Should I go after the goblin?' Pettigrew asked his companion, but the man shook his head.

'Eh, it's probably not worth it, no-one really cares about just another goblin grunt'. Despite hanging upside down, Harry could see the face of the man as he strode up to face him. He couldn't believe his eyes – it was none other than Remus Lupin.

Driven temporarily uncomprehending of his position by shock, Harry yelled out. 'Professor Lupin, what the hell are you doing with that bastard? He killed my parents; he's a bloody Death Eater! Kill the rat now you have the chance!'

'I told you,' said Pettigrew to Lupin in an almost resigned manner. 'He was spouting the same rubbish last night. He must be mental.'

'I see,' said Lupin scratching his chin. 'Bu it worries me more that he recognises both of us, yet I can't place his face anywhere.'

'And he called me a rat too,' Pettigrew added.

'Yes,' said Lupin, amber eyes boring into Harry's green. 'An interesting turn of phrase. Care to explain?'

'He's a rat animagus,' said Harry desperately trying to convey to Lupin the urgency of the situation. 'You and Wormtail, and Sirius and my dad were the Marauders! And then he killed my parents!'

Lupin and Pettigrew seemed to be taken aback. The expressions on their faces looked like they'd just been slapped. 'How do you know this?' asked Lupin after he'd regained his composure.

'About the Marauders,' Pettigrew qualified the question, 'I'm not sure I know anything about your parents or this Sirius'.

Harry couldn't quite comprehend what was going on as he stared wild-eyed through the ropes he was caught up in. 'You know – Sirius – my parents –'. He sucked at his bottom lip in frustration, bewildered by the blank looks of incomprehension he was receiving. 'James and Lily Potter? Godric's Hollow? Bloody Hogwarts? Please tell me you've heard of Hogwarts?'

_What was Lupin doing with Wormtail of all people? _Harry's mind raced through all the different possibilities, but could only draw a blank. _If Lupin hated anyone more than Voldemort it had to be Wormtail – well maybe the werewolf Fenrir Greyback – no, he absolutely hated Wormtail more than any other. And here he was just having a casual chat?_

Pettigrew seemed to growl, taking offence and ready to retort, but Lupin held up a hand. 'James Potter and Godric's Hollow I _do _know. Now maybe you can explain how you know so much about the Marauders, and why you're so interested in James Potter'.

'Oh I don't know really,' Harry replied airily. 'Maybe because James Potter is my father, Sirius is my godfather, you were their best friend, and you,' here he glared pointedly at Pettigrew, 'murdered my mum and dad!'

'You think I killed James Potter?' the rat animagus asked slowly, as if he were talking to a complete moron.

'Well as good as. The only thing you didn't do was cast the curse itself'.

Lupin was smiling now as he spoke. 'Well my friend, I can see a few miniscule flaws in this story of yours. Namely that James Potter is still, as far as I know, very much alive, and unless your name used to be Matilda and you've just had a sex change, you're not his son either'.

'What! With all due respect professor, have you gone completely off your rocker? Did someone spike your Wolfsbane with stupid juice?' He pointed to himself and spoke slowly, as if to a troll. 'Me Harry. Me son of James. You completely loopy'.

Lupin narrowed his eyebrows and scowled. 'Well perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining whatever the hell is going on here to James personally then. I'm sure he would find it very... interesting. And if you call me professor one more time I _will_ get Peter here to hex your balls off. In fact, if you would kindly refrain from saying anything else for a while, it would be much appreciated'.

Harry felt like he should answer that, but seeing the mischievous glint in Pettigrew's eye he thought better of it. Whoever this imposter James Potter was, he would preferably like to meet him with intact testicles.

Lupin moved in front of the gently glowing fireplace and tossed a handful of what Harry presumed was floo powder into it, making it spark brightly.

'Yes Auror Shacklebolt,' the werewolf stated, staring intently into the growing flames. 'It's Lupin and Pettigrew. Fortuna Major' – Harry assumed this was a password – 'We've got someone who might be of interest to James. Sorry, Director Potter. No, we don't think he's listed – in fact he seemed a little bit... unhinged. Harmless enough. Ok we'll be right over.'

Finally Lupin turned to face Harry with a toothy grin. 'Time to meet your father. Hope you don't mind side-along apparition'.


	3. Fortress Azkaban

**Black Blind Eyes.**

**Chapter 3: Fortress Azkaban.**

"Azkaban."

"What, seriously? _This _is Azkaban? I thought it would be a bit... grimmer."

"Well since the dementors scarpered and the Ministry set up shop, it has changed quite a bit. Makes for a more pleasant working environment," replied Lupin, giving Harry a strange look.

"Thank Merlin too, I hated going to Azkaban when they still had the dementors around. Barbaric," Wormtail added bitterly, shaking his head.

_Yet you still thought it was fine to send Sirius here_ Harry thought to himself, but didn't voice the opinion. This Wormtail wasn't like the other Wormtail. He had to remember that.

The three of them had been sitting around a table in the room for, Harry guessed, somewhere upwards of half an hour, bar a short period when a pretty young woman called Wormtail away to take a statement. Whatever that meant. They'd made idle conversation, but it hadn't taught him too much. Harry didn't want to let slip how little he actually knew of this place, whilst the older men evidently didn't want to give anything away either.

What little he'd picked up had been very interesting, he just hadn't picked up much. He didn't know exactly why he'd been taken to Azkaban, for example, although he had learned that Azkaban was very different on the other side of the 'portal'. Presumably this Azkaban was far less gloomy than the original; homely even, with the oak floorboards and panelled walls. Even during the short walk down the corridor from the apparition point the building was alive with raised voices and the smell of coffee.

When Wormtail had returned from giving his statement, he had brought two cups of soup with him. "From the cafeteria," he'd said before handing one to Lupin. Thankfully, and much to the werewolf's credit, he had slid his cup over to Harry. If Wormtail was different, at least Lupin seemed the same.

Harry blew on his soup cup before taking a sip. His stomach growled almost contentedly, he couldn't remember when he had last eaten. _Must have been Hogwarts, before they confronted Umbridge. God that seemed like a lifetime ago._

Suddenly the handle of the door twisted and three people walked into the room wearing the deep red robes of the auror office. Harry recognised them all, but one of them only from photographs.

"Dad," he whispered to himself, so softly even Lupin didn't catch it. Harry knew he should have been prepared for it, Lupin and Wormtail kept going on and on about it, but until his father was standing before him in the flesh, Harry realised a large part of him had felt it was all some cruel joke. Sure his hair was greyer than in the pictures, and his face more scarred, his eyes haggard – but it was James Potter nonetheless. Harry's heart felt like it had leapt from his chest. This was his Dad.

James spoke, his voice strangely quiet, but to Harry it carried an unquestionable authority. "Remus, Peter, we won't need you here for this, your statement will be adequate information."

"We're going to get paid for this right? We've been staked out at Diagon for bleeding ages, at least that's what it felt like, and those goblins were getting quite restless," Peter said.

"You'll get your money but you might want to stay around for a while, I might have another job for you. And you missed Mattie's birthday Remus, I think your god-daughter might want to see you at least once this year," James added with a smile.

Harry watched as the two men nodded, shook hands with his father, spoke a few words between each other, and left the room leaving him alone with James and the two other aurors. Harry knew them well – Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.

His father took out his wand, conjured a chair in the corner of the room, and wordlessly gestured at Shacklebolt and Tonks, who had already sat down opposite Harry.

Tonks, green-haired today, cleared her throat and began. "This interview is being recorded using an Auror-certified Quick-Quotes Quill, and the time is" – she checked her watch – "11 o'clock, July the 20th 1996. This interview is taking place in interrogation room three of Fortress Azkaban."

Now she looked up into Harry's eyes. "My name is Auror Tonks," and here James Potter coughed loudly making Tonks sigh and roll her eyes, "Auror _Nymphadora_ Tonks. Also present are Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Director James Potter. For the purposes of this interrogation, we don't feel it necessary to submit the subject to Veritaserum or more extreme techniques. It 's important that you understand that if we think you are lying to us, withholding information from us, or otherwise hindering this interrogation, we will resort to such methods. Capisce?"

Harry saw his father's eyebrows narrow at this, but he said nothing.

"What do you mean by 'more extreme techniques'" Harry asked in reply, not sure that he'd like the answer.

Before Tonks could answer, Kingsley butted in. "Torture." Harry noted there was not a touch of emotion on his face. It worried him a lot more than he cared to admit.

"Well Lupin and Wormtail didn't believe me at all when I talked to them, so I'm worried you're not going to either. And I really don't fancy being tortured..." Harry trailed off, glad to be interrupted by his father.

"Wormtail?" James asked abruptly, causing the other occupants of the room to look at him strangely. "Sorry Auror Tonks, carry on," he said, but fixed Harry with a stare halfway between curiosity and fascination.

"Uh, sure boss. Can you give me your full name and date of birth please?"

Harry swallowed nervously. "See this is the bit they didn't seem to believe. My name's Harry James Potter and I was born on the 31st of July, 1980." Harry waited for it to sink in, but as opposed to howls of derision, he was instead met with slightly raised eyebrows.

"And do you go by any aliases?"

"Well I told this goblin I was Harry Dursley." Harry felt it was best if he made no mention of also being known as the Boy-Who-Lived. After all, apparently Neville was Boy-Who-Lived here, and it hadn't worked out so well for him.

"You've been in contact with the goblins?"

"Only one, he was called Griphook. Lupin and Wormtail had him tied up with me."

"And how much did you tell him?" growled Kingsley. Harry didn't think he liked this Kingsley much, but perhaps he'd always been this intimidating. It's just that back home they were on the same side.

Before he could reply James held up a hand. "We'll discuss that later. Get to the heart of the matter first Tonks, I do have other places to be." It seemed to Harry that there was a sort of good cop-bad cop situation going on, with Tonks the good and Kingsley the bad, with his father directing the two.

"Yes Director, sorry. Can you tell me what you were doing in Diagon Alley before you were apprehended by Bounty Wizards Lupin and Pettigrew?"

_Bounty Wizards? Now that was strange._ "Well I... there was this portal, the Veil, and I fell through it, and ended up in the Ministry of Magic. And then I walked into the Alley and then I guess Wormtail's told you the rest."

"A portal?" asked Kingsley after an awkward moment of silence. "You seriously expect us to believe that?"

"Is this where you're going to start torturing me? Because I swear it sounds as insane to me as it does to you. I honestly thought I'd died. Maybe I am." A thought struck Harry. "Are you judging me here? To see if I go to heaven or hell?"

Kingsley buried his face in his hands, but Tonks carried on. "I can assure you Mr, uh, Potter, you are very much alive. Now this portal, it was situated in the former Ministry of Magic building?"

"I guess so, but it's not former where I came from. It was in a big circular room in the Department of Mysteries, but on this side of the portal there was nothing. It was like I'd come out of thin air."

"So it's a one-way portal," Tonks clarified.

"Or with entrances in different locations," said James.

"Or a convenient explanation for the lack of evidence supporting his story," growled Kingsley, staring at Harry intently.

"You called this portal a 'Veil'," James stated, with purpose in his voice. "An odd turn of phrase wouldn't you agree?"

Harry nodded, unsure where he was going with this.

"But it's a turn of phrase I happen to like. And your name is Harry Potter. That's interesting too. And from what Peter's statement says it could get a lot more interesting."

Harry said nothing.

"Tell me Harry, and don't worry if this sounds a little strange, but are you a star?"

"I'm sorry," said Harry, completely confused. '_Little strange' my ass. What a bizarre question._ "Do you mean like a celebrity?"

James had folded on leg over the other, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. It made Harry think of some sort of therapist, although he'd never been to see one himself. _With all my issues, I probably should have_, he thought.

"Well what does a star mean to you?" James said, breaking off Harry's train of thought.

"A big shiny thing up in the sky?"

His father closed his eyes for a moment, frustration evident on his face. Kingsley looked like he was bursting to say something, probably quite nasty, so Harry was glad when his father spoke again. "Which you are clearly not. But you brought up celebrity Harry, is there a reason you leapt to that definition first?""

"I suppose there might be." Harry was unsure of how much he should reveal. Sure these were his father and two Order members. But they weren't _his_ father, or _his_ Order members. In fact he didn't know if there even was an Order here. If this Wormtail was nice, well perhaps not nice but certainly less overtly evil, then the reverse could be true for these three.

And if Harry was honest with himself, his father was beginning to freak him out. He couldn't quite put his finger on it – the long scar across his face gave him a certain savage look; the authority held by his voice seemed to cow Tonks and Kingsley so effortlessly; and the odd line of questioning, about the Veil and stars was particularly unnerving. It seemed like his father knew a lot more about the situation then Harry, or anyone else he'd spoken to did.

"That's good. Very good. What does this celebrity involve?" said James.

Harry couldn't help but notice that Tonks and Kingsley had been conspicuously silent during their exchange, despite the strange turn the conversation had taken. He decided to keep his cards close to his chest. "I won the Tri-Wizard Tournament last year. I'm kind of a big deal."

Harry hadn't meant to sound so pompous, but then again it might help to make his story more believable. You would expect the Tri-Wizard Champion to have a slightly inflated ego.

James smiled. "Well you may be a Potter after all," he said before standing up and opening the door to the room. "Skade, would you come in?"

The woman who strode in was quite unlike any Harry had seen before. An expression of practiced boredom graced her face, a look that to Harry at least matched her snub nose and full pink lips to perfection. Her hair was silver, not blonde or grey or white, cascading over her shoulders, framing her neck and... chest. Her hips swayed as she sauntered across the room, causing both of Harry's brains to work overtime.

James offered her his seat, but she shook her head to stand at the side of the table. Harry's gazed moved slowly, embarrassingly slowly, up her body. She was clad in robes of the same silver as her hair, and when he met her steel grey eyes he could that there was something wrong. Her eyes were _wrong._

"What are you?" Harry finally managed to squeak out.

She smiled at that, flashing brilliant white teeth, but Harry couldn't help but notice the smile didn't quit e reach those wrong eyes. "I don't presume to know the correct grammar spoken where you came from, but here it would be more polite to ask '_who_ are you?'"

Harry said nothing, so she continued on. "I am Skade. It is a pleasure to meet you Mr..."

"Er... Potter. Harry Potter. It's a pleasure for me too. To meet you that is." _Curse these teenage hormones._ Tonks was struggling to hold back laughter, even Kingsley seemed to have a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Harry flushed a bright red.

James Potter had closed the door, and finally spoke up, relieving Harry from his misery. "So Skade, is he the one?"

"He is certainly touched by prophecy. Where did you say you found him again James?"

Harry noticed his father swallow and run a hand through his dark hair. "Director Potter," he corrected her. "Pettigrew picked him up skulking in Diagon Alley, and the lad says he came through some sort of portal in the old Department of Mysteries, but he called it a Veil. And he seems to be a minor celebrity of sorts."

"And your son as well," the silver lady added.

"Yes, at least that's what he says. Did you see that?"

"I don't have to be a seer to see that, Director James. Merely being in the same room as you two is evidence enough." Her accent was strange, but Harry couldn't quite place it. Not British, or even American. _She must be European_ he decided.

"So is he the one?" James asked again.

Skade stared intensely at Harry for a moment; her grey eyes making him feel naked under the scrutiny. "All the signs point to it," she stated abruptly, turned on her heels and made for the door. James held it shut for an instant, whispered something in her ear, and let her out.

Harry reached for his soup and took a sip. Still warm, but then again Skade had only been in the room for a couple of minutes. It had just _felt _like hours.

"Our resident seer," James said, answering Harry's unasked question. "She's very talented."

"I bet she is," said Tonks, almost making Harry snort out a mouthful of soup.

"That will be enough Tonks," James said, his face a picture of calm, but Harry noted a slight strain in his voice. "I think we may be done here. Kingsley, find Lupin and Pettigrew, wherever they've got off too, and tell them to join me in my office. Tonks, I believe you have some cadets to train?"

"Mattie, Cormac and Dennis. But surely there are more important things I could be doing?" Tonks asked.

"Oh really, like what?"

"Missions, maybe? You know, useful things. Things that aren't essentially glorified babysitting."

"I really don't have time for this Tonks. If you don't like babysitting I can always assign you to muggle liaison. Your father was mud- muggleborn wasn't he? Burbage is always looking for more wand-hands."

If Harry didn't know any better he could have sworn his dad was about to say 'mudblood'. His father, who had married muggleborn Lily Potter. Harry put it out of his head; there were more obvious issues to think about than derogatory language.

But then again, was his father married to his mother here? The obvious familiarity between James and Skade, Tonks' comment – the fact that he, Harry, didn't seem to exist here...

"Fine sir, I'll take him along, teach him to wipe his arse, the usual," Tonks said, holding up her hands in defeat and interrupting his chain of thought. "You know how to use a wand at least?"

"Tri-Wizard Tournament remember," said Harry. He didn't like being talked down to like this. Outside of the Dursleys he really wasn't used to it. "But I lost mine in the Veil."

"We'll get you one tomorrow Harry. But for now you can use Tonks' wand," James said, shooting Tonks a pointed glare. "And Harry, I think it would be best if you go by Harry Dursley for the time being. Don't want to give anyone the wrong idea," his father added as he and Kingsley left the room, leaving Harry and Tonks alone.

The awkward silence was broken by the metamorphmagus. "So what are we going to do now?" she asked Harry.

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm going to finish my soup."

* * *

Sat in the training room Harry reflected on the day's events. If he was honest to himself, it had been quite underwhelming. Yes, he'd met his father, the very father who'd been dead for the past fifteen years, but it wasn't what he might have dreamed it would be. James seemed far more interested in the Veil than in his son, and those cryptic questions hadn't improved matters. '_Are you a star?' 'Why did you call it a Veil?' Why not tell me about yourself Harry?' Why did he not seem to care?_ Harry supposed he shouldn't be so disappointed – after all, to this James, Harry wasn't his son – in fact from what he'd picked up it seemed like James had a daughter instead. To this James, Harry was merely a curiosity, the son of a James on the other side of the Veil.

But he could have at least pretended to be interested in Harry as a person. Tonks had explained that this James was the Director of the DMLE, essentially the wizarding police, and in a time of war like they were apparently experiencing here, he would obviously be rushed off his feet. But he couldn't even spare five minutes alone with his son. Well not _his_ son, but closer than damn near anything else.

And now he was going to have to fight somebody. Tonks told him that they did this twice a week to prepare young wizards and witches for a life outside of Azkaban. In the war. Harry wasn't quite sure who the war was against, presumably You-Know-Who. Or maybe goblins.

"Ouch," said Harry suddenly, interrupted from his reverie. Tonks had just poked him in the side with her wand. "What was that for?"

"Wotcher Cormac," she said in response, nodding towards the door of the room. Harry followed her gaze to see a boy had just entered the room. "This is Harry; he'll be joining in our training session today."

Harry recognised the boy, Cormac Mc-something-or-other, a Gryffindor in the year above; tall, handsome and by all accounts a good quidditch player. And, according to Katie Bell at least, a major douchebag.

Cormac shook hands with Harry. "It's always nice beating fresh meat, but you have my word I'll go easy on you. Wouldn't want to make a bad impression," he added with a wink.

_Too late for that_ thought Harry. _Wanker._

The three of them were quickly joined by another boy Harry recognised, Dennis Creevey ("wotcher Dennis"), and a girl Harry didn't know ("wotcher Mattie") to complete the group.

_So this is Mattie,_ Harry thought. Lupin's god-daughter. James' actual daughter. To be honest Harry had expected her to look like Lily, or maybe a female version of himself, but instead the girl had honey blonde hair and dark blue eyes. _Not Potter traits._

The sleeves of her sweater were rolled up to the elbow, her hair pulled back into a pony tail, and she was already brandishing a wand. Harry couldn't fault her on that account; she definitely looked ready for action. "Hi Harry," she said when she reached the group. "I'm Mattie. Pleased to meet you. If you've talked to Cormac at all, just ignore everything he says. My Dad says he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but I think it was a silver foot."

Harry smiled at that, and noted Cormac's scowl out the corner of his eye. "And your Dad is..."

"The one and only James Potter," she finished for him, rolling her eyes. "And no, having the Director as your dad is _not_ as cool as everyone seems to think. And before you say anything, I'm not Daddy's little princess either. I can handle myself."

Harry wondered where that sudden outburst had come from, but he was interrupted by Tonks suddenly whistling. "Alright everyone, before we start the exciting bit I thought we might have a pop quiz, make sure you've been listening in my lessons _Cormac_," she added pointedly, ignoring his moans of derision. "Don't worry I've only got a few questions. Then you can start attacking each other."

"Awesome," Harry heard Mattie mutter at this.

"First up we'll go over a few medical spells. Picture it: Dennis has swallowed some gobstones again, he's choking, what should we do?"

"Put him out of his misery!" Cormac yelled out, and receiving a punch to the arm in response from Mattie.

"_Anapneo_," said Dennis quietly, blushing.

"Well done Dennis," said Tonks, "I thought you might remember that one." Dennis blushed an even deeper crimson; something Harry hadn't thought was possible. He wondered what the story was behind that. "Okay, what if I've broken a leg and need a splint. What's the spell for that?"

Harry remembered that one from when Lupin had cast it on Ron. Before he met Sirius. "_Ferula_," he called out.

"Well done Harry, and he's not even been in any of our lessons," Tonks said to the rest of the group. "And finally, what would I need to cast if someone suffers a nasty cut. From _Sectumsempra_, for example."

Harry hadn't heard of _Sectumsempra_, or for that matter the healing spell for cuts. It seemed that nobody else had either.

"_Anapneo?"_ said Dennis hopefully.

"No Dennis, _Anapneo _is just for choking. It's not the answer to everything. The spell I'm looking for is _Vulnera Sanetur_. You cast it once to stop the blood, twice to knit the wound, and thrice to stop scarring if it's not a major wound." Tonks cast a disappointed eye over her students for a moment. "I have to say I expected you to get all of those right. It's basic stuff guys." _Basic my arse_ thought Harry. "But you can redeem yourselves if you can get this one right: How would I find a person who's hiding from me, but still nearby?"

"Oh I know this one," cried out Cormac. "Homer – homo – homorphus?" He trailed off, unsure.

"_Homorphus_? That's for turning werewolves back into human form. Very tricky to get the hand movements right for that one, but I'm sure you won't be encountering any werewolves, so you probably don't need to know it. Good try though Cormac."

Harry was tempted to point out that he had 'encountered' a werewolf less than twenty-four hours ago, but decided to let it slide.

"_Homenum Revelio," _Mattie said suddenly. "Swish to the left, flick up, then back down and flick to the right."

"Correct Mattie! A famously flamboyant spell indeed." All of a sudden Tonks clapped her hands together. "Okay, I'm sure you're all bored enough of this quiz by now, so it's time for the fun stuff. Cormac and Mattie on one side, Dennis and Harry on the other. You all know the rules?"

"There are no rules!" the three others cried out in return.

"All right then, what are you waiting for? Go!" said Tonks.

In an instant everyone had their wands out.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

"_Protego_!"

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Harry wasn't quite sure what was happening, but the last one got him, and he felt his body seize up, his arms snap down against his body, and he fell backwards onto the hard wooden floor. A moment later he saw Dennis take a stunner to the chest. Harry didn't think this was quite fair.

"I don't have a wand," said Harry by way of explanation as the counter-spell was cast upon him. "I'm not so hot with wandless magic."

Tonks at least had the good grace to look apologetic as she handed him her wand. "Don't break it," she said, but was cut off by a sudden squeal.

Cormac was keeled over on the ground moaning. "He tried to touch me," said Mattie matter-of-factly. "I told him to piss off, but there's no helping some boys. Next time I'll curse little Cormac off," she added as she stood over him.

Tonks sighed, and for a moment her hair turned a shade of grey. "I suppose I should have expected something like this when I put you two together. Cormac and Dennis facing Mattie and Harry. Go!"

This time Harry was not to be taken by surprise. After all, he _was _the Tri-Wizard champion, and appearances had to be kept up. With a sudden jerking motion he elbowed Dennis, who was still stood to his left, in the nose. He heard a crunch, and saw the younger boy crumple to the floor. Maybe Harry didn't need a wand after all.

He dove over the boy's prone body to avoid a flash of blue light that came screaming at him from where Cormac and Mattie had been. He didn't know who had sent it – it could have been aimed at Dennis for all Harry knew, but friendly fire was still fire after all. Landing on all fours like a particularly ungainly cat, Harry was on his feet in a flash to look around the room.

The once empty space between him and the two others was now a vortex of whirling chairs, desks, books and general classroom debris. Tonks seemed to be to blame for this abundance of cover, the metamorphmagus' hands moved like an orchestral composer's, directing the furniture around the room with each flick of her wrists. Obviously _she_ was proficient in wandless techniques.

Harry had to duck an outlying book that almost knocked him off his feet, and tried to get a fix on Cormac. Hearing a low groan from behind, he turned to cast _Petrificus Totalus_ at Dennis. The younger Creevey's face was a mess of blood, and Harry felt a little bit guilty. The boy was only thirteen after all. Perhaps elbowing him in the face was a _little_ harsh.

A sudden barking noise drew Harry's eyes back towards the others. Through the vortex of furniture he could see Mattie trying to fight off two dogs; presumably they had once been chairs, and ducking jets of light from Cormac's wand.

"_Confringo_!" Harry cried out, obliterating a table. He needed a clear shot, but Tonks showed no sign of letting up with her spell. He briefly considered stunning her – they _had_ said there were no rules after all, but... well he supposed lines had to be drawn somewhere, and stunning the teacher was probably crossing a line.

Cormac had a similar idea as Harry, and started to cast more spells to obliterate the classroom books and furniture. Chunks of wood and paper splintered out in multiple directions, forcing Harry to duck if he didn't want to be impaled on a chair leg.

"_Stupefy!" _the older boy yelled out as the vortex began to thin out, but Harry had seen the spell coming from a mile off, and casually deflected it with a shield.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry shot off in retort forcing Cormac to drop to the floor.

"_Stupefy_!" the boy returned, but his spell clipped a flying book, sending it shooting off in the wrong direction.

"_Expelli_-"

Harry couldn't finish his spell. His mouth snapped shut and refused to open. He hadn't seen where the spell had come from. Admittedly Cormac was good, but surely he couldn't be _that_ good. For a moment Harry considered Tonks may have cast the spell at him, but as he heard a shout from behind him he dived instinctively to the side.

It was Dennis. Somehow he was still going. Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see Cormac was now distracted by Mattie, so he grabbed a flying chair out of mid-air and advanced on Dennis. Mentally Harry cursed himself for his lack of knowledge. _I can't do wandless magic, I can't do wordless magic, how was I meant to beat Voldemort again? Unless the 'power the dark lord knows not' is an elbow to the face I'm fairly sure I'm screwed._

Slowly Harry advanced on Dennis, using the chair to block each of the spells sent his way. For some reason the other boy seemed unable to move, sitting motionless on the floor. But the upper half of his body seemed unaffected, as he was still flinging curses. Harry caught a couple on his chair and in no time he was looming over his attacker. Harry smiled grimly as he saw the fear in Dennis' eyes. With both hands he swung the chair at the boy's head. There was a sickening crunch and a clatter as his wand dropped to the floor. This time Harry didn't feel guilty. Dennis had been asking for it anyway. He should have known when he was beaten.

Harry stashed the dropped wand, and turned to face Cormac again. Currently duelling Mattie, the older boy was completely oblivious to Harry as he slowly but surely crept around the furniture. Closer and closer. Inch by inch...

But Harry was too slow. With a flourish and a jet of light Cormac disarmed the girl, who flew backwards to land with a thud on the hard floor. Harry didn't know what to do. He couldn't cast a spell, he was too far away to use the now tried and tested 'Harry Potter chair smash'. He was effectively powerless...

Cormac was gloating as he pointed his wand down at Mattie, who still lay on the floor. "Ah, revenge is so sweet. Maybe you'll remember that next time you kick me in the balls. You know, I've always wanted to see you tied up," he said. "Incarcer-"

Harry had slipped off a shoe and lobbed it at Cormac, bouncing it off his curly golden locks. "What the hell?" the boy yelled out, spinning around to face Harry. But what he hadn't seen was Harry's second throw. Dennis' wand arced through the air and into Mattie's outstretched hand.

"_Stupefy_," said Cormac.

Harry flipped him the bird as the spell hit his chest. There was just enough time to see a flash of blue hit Cormac from behind before he blacked out.

* * *

Harry awoke, groggy and lethargic. The lights were too bright, and there was a pounding in his temples. "What the-"

"That was amazing," he heard a girl's voice say as his eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness.

"Hermione?"

"No, it's me, Mattie. That was amazing Harry. We make a badass team. Who's Hermione?"

"Just a friend," Harry murmured as he began to get his bearings. He'd come through the Veil, fought a werewolf, met his Dad, fought a duel – and then it all came flooding back to him. "Amazing? All I did was throw my shoe at him. I'm actually capable of slightly more than that."

"Tonks said that was what a proper auror would have done, thinking on your feet. And the way you sacrificed yourself so I could get in the winning shot – that was really cool too."

"Although a proper auror would know the counter jinx to _Langlock_," said a friendly voice from behind. "Still, I was very impressed with you two. Cormac is quite a powerhouse, and you combined admirably well to take him down," said Tonks, standing over them.

"Yeah, well, they cheated – Harry almost killed Dennis, that's not in the rules." Cormac put in, scowling, his face a mess of ugly red boils and pustules. "And she cursed me after I was already out."

Mattie looked sheepish at that, but Tonks was having none of it. "You know the rules Cormac."

"There are none," supplied Harry helpfully.

"Bingo," said Tonks with a grin. "Now guys, I hope you've learned a lot from that little game. I'll take you to the medical wing Dennis. And Mattie, maybe you could give Harry the guided tour of Azkaban. I know he's been dying to see the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

Harry could think of many places he would rather be, but then again it could be worse. He was with his father, he had a sister... this side of the Veil didn't seem so bad after all. But something was still troubling at the back of his mind. Something was missing. Sirius.


	4. Black Dogs

**Black Blind Eyes.**

**Chapter 4: Black Dogs.**

Not for the first time, Sirius Black wondered how he had got himself in this position.

Idly, he drummed his finger tips against the hard oaken table, but a murmured growl from the man seated next to him encouraged him to stop. A more contrarian Sirius – the old Sirius – might have continued to irritate his companion, to push the limits of the man's tolerance, but Sirius wasn't stupid.

He had matured, or if not matured then at least _changed_, in the past few weeks. In this environment the twin pressures offear and deference built up and built up, until they became an intrinsic part of you. Or perhaps it was because the man beside him was Fenrir Greyback that caused him to stop. The Red Wolf he called himself. Red on account of all the blood. In Sirius' first week with the organisation he'd seen Greyback rip out the throat of a fresh-faced new recruit for calling him a puppy. All things considered, he was not a nice guy.

In fact, it pained Sirius to realise that he'd forgotten the name of that newbie already. From what he remembered the boy had been an arrogant brat, but a death was still death and he wouldn't wish it on anybody. Well perhaps not anybody. There were twenty others in the room that he would gladly have wished death upon. Sirius himself, of course, being the twenty-first.

The dog animagus tugged softly at his hood. He'd never get used to the awkward black accoutrement. It wasn't that he hated what it symbolised – although he certainly _did_ hate what it symbolised – but the damn thing was so hot and heavy he felt like he was liable to suffocate at any moment. And naturally when in the master's presence, full uniform, however uncomfortable, was compulsory.

"Quiet everyone," a voice at the other end of the table suddenly spoke up. Nobody had been talking, but it still seemed to Sirius that the room had somehow become even quieter anyway. The Dark Lord tended to have that effect on people.

"Now, Severus, I understand you have important news for us. Do please enlighten us."

The Death Eater stood next to the Dark Lord rose languidly to his feet and cleared his throat. Apparently that was a new policy. If you wished to address His Dominance (which he also now insisted upon) you had to stand. Sirius had heard no end of complaints amongst the Death Eaters about this, but he didn't see what the big deal was. Pompous pricks were always going to be pompous pricks. You just have to suck it up and deal with it.

"Thank you Your Dominance. Some new information has indeed come to my attention. From the Ministry no less. It would seem that somebody important has arrived at Fortress Azkaban, important enough that James Potter has taken them into custody, and important enough that even Dumbledore is taking an interest."

"Intriguing. And just who is this person of such interest?" the Dark Lord spoke softly, drawing out the 's' in 'person' so that it almost sounded like he was hissing. Another habit Sirius had noticed since he had joined the Death Eaters.

"I don't know as of yet, but there was talk of prophecy." Snape paused a moment before hurriedly adding, "Your Dominance."

"I do not like prophecies, as you well know Severus. The Longbottom boy caused me enough problems as it was. And now this. What exactly does this prophecy entail?"

"I don't know as of yet master, although I am working on it. It might not be anything; you know how that superstitious old fool is. He sees omens and prophecies everywhere he looks."

Sirius supposed they were talking about Dumbledore. This James Potter may be superstitious, or even foolish, but he would certainly not count as 'old'.

"That may be so Severus, but your denials sound worryingly similar to excuses, and I like excuses less than I like prophecies. Excuses are liable to leave me... disappointed. You haven't disappointed me have you Severus?"

It never ceased to amaze Sirius how long the Dark Lord could drag out the word 'Severus'. Hell, he could probably take a coffee break in the time it took the man to say "She sells sea shells on the sea shore."

"No master. I don't believe I have disappointed you. But if you wish to punish me..." Snape trailed off, but it amused Sirius to note the strange tinge of hopefulness when his old nemesis mentioned punishment. Perhaps that was just his imagination. But then again, it _was _Snape.

In fact the idea of punishing Snape seemed to perturb even the Dark Lord. "You are my faithful servant Severus, of that I have no doubt. I see no need for punishment. Good things come to those who wait after all, and I am nothing if not patient."

Sirius supposed there was truth in that. The Dark Lord had few enough virtues, but patience must be one of them. You'd _have_ to be patient if you were to stand living in the back of Professor Quirrell's head for a year. A fate worse than death in his opinion.

Next to be called upon by the Dark Lord were a shabby, pinch-faced pair called the Carrows. For their 'failure' in apprehending some low-level Ministry pencil-pusher they were less lucky than Snape – extended exposure to the Cruciatus curse left them as snivelling wrecks, but they still had the decency to thank their master and crawl back to their seats. Even several minutes later they continued to twitch and shake. It occurred to Sirius that if he stayed with the Death Eaters for too much longer, he may end up undergoing the same treatment.

Of course, as one of the newest members, if not _the _newest member of the Death Eaters, he hadn't been tasked with any missions to complete yet. But he knew the time would come, and soon. His cover story, if that's what it could be called, had gotten him this far, but eventually he would have to show the others what he was made of. And to be honest, Sirius wasn't sure what he was made of himself. He dreaded the moment he'd be asked to execute a 'mudblood' or torture a 'blood traitor', but it was naive of him to think the day wouldn't come. He liked to think he would turn his wand on his erstwhile comrades, or even simply pull a fast one and ditch the black hood. But he couldn't be certain until that moment came.

And even then, where would he go? The snake and skull etched into his forearm sort of ruled out the Order, and he knew next to nothing about the Ministry. Sirius hated to admit it, but he had lucked out in joining the Dark Lord (ironic, he knew). They were a powerful group, who trusted him a good deal more than they rightly should, and they had their fingers on the pulse of Wizarding society. If he was going to find his godson, the Death Eaters offered as good a starting point as anybody.

The next name called out was enough to make Sirius look up and actually start paying proper attention to the proceedings. "Regulus Black."

Regulus. His long-dead kid brother.

And, incidentally, the reason Sirius was sitting where he was now, surrounded by people he would much rather brutally murder than engage in idle chit-chat with. When earlier he had thought to wish death upon all the other Death Eaters in the room, Sirius realised perhaps Regulus could be spared. Perhaps. They weren't _really_ brothers, after all. His brother was dead and gone.

"Your Dominance," Regulus said as he too stood up. "Progress on my latest little research project goes well. Perhaps too well, even. I'vetrawled through every book I've been able to get my hands on, but now I've reached a dead end."

"I like dead ends even less than I like excuses," murmured the Dark Lord softly.

Sirius noticed his brother gulp, but his face remained a carefully schooled picture of calm. "Of course not, master, but it is an issue that can easily be solved. I have identified a book that should prove the solution to my problem. I know where it is, and how to get it. I just need some help."

"What sort of help?"

"Just some backup wands, Your Dominance. I was thinking my cousin could be of use."

Cousin. Him. Sirius. That was the cover-story after all. That was how he'd ended up here.

_And how have I ended up here?_ Sirius mused. He supposed it was all because life was... complicated. And he himself wasn't entirely blameless for exacerbating those complications. A more rational, level-headed man, like Lupin or even James, upon exiting the Veil, would have stopped for a moment to think. A more rational, level-headed man might then have weighed up his options, laid low for a while, and got his bearings straight. A more rational, level-headed man would certainly not have apparated straight to No.12 Grimmauld Place, without ever pausing to consider the implications.

But Sirius, unfortunately, was not a rational or level-headed man. Which was how he'd run into Regulus, which had lead him right here.

It seemed Regulus was still talking too. About a book he needed, for his 'brother' had been spending long hours in the study at Grimmauld Place, working on something for the Dark Lord. At first Sirius had been very interested on finding out all he could about the little 'project', but as soon as Regulus started to talk about history and ancient artefacts and the linguistic origins of certain spells, Sirius began to lose the will to live. His brother had always been a bookworm after all, and Sirius was decidedly not.

Sirius absent-mindedly noticed the space next to Regulus was empty, when it had been filled by a plump pink-faced witch two nights before. That wasn't too surprising really, a lot of Death Eaters went missing for extended periods of time – sometimes never to return – but Sirius knew he recognised her from somewhere, and not from the Death Eaters. There were a lot of people he'd recognised in the Death Eaters who hadn't been a part of the organisation on the other side of the Veil. And there were some Death Eaters from his side that weren't on this side. He hadn't seen Wormtail yet, for example, but had at least learned from Regulus that the rat did at least exist here. Apparently as a bounty hunter. _I'll believe it when I see it_ thought Sirius.

"Very well Regulus, you have me convinced. And you, Sirius Black," the pale faced monster at the other end of the table spoke, "are you capable of performing what I ask of you?"

"Yes, Your Dominance. It would be an honour to prove my worth to you," said Sirius, standing up and snapping to attention, but mentally he cursed himself for not listening properly. _Shit. And nowI have no idea what I've signed up for. Just brilliant. _

As Sirius stood before the iron gaze of the Dark Lord, he was inordinately glad for the rudimentary Occlumency training he'd received from Dumbledore, and the knowledge his mind was safe from the prying sight of Lord Voldemort. He was at silently proud of his ability to look the Dark Lord in the eye as he gave his answers. Most of the other Death Eaters couldn't do that, even if his legs did seem to threaten to give out on him at any time.

The Dark Lord continued to drone on, the hiss of his voice never seeming to end, and never having to compete for airtime with any other voices. According to Regulus, Death Eaters had once commonly interrupted each other during meetings, and even queried the demands of the Dark Lord himself on occasion. That had all stopped when Rodolphus Lestrange had 'talked over' Voldemort and lost his tongue because of it. Sirius had to concede that to call the Dark Lord a megalomaniac would not in any way be exaggeration. To call him a complete nutjob may even be closer to the mark.

* * *

At the end of the talk, after he had been sat down for over three hours (a not in any way unusual amount of time when it came to Death Eater conferences), the Dark Lord dismissed his followers and retreated to a back room. As Sirius watched the retreating black-cloaked figure, he heard a by now familiar voice at his side.

"So how about it? Working together at last."

"I'm finally going to become a real Death Eater?" Sirius couldn't quite manage to hide the sarcasm dripping from his voice, but if his brother noticed, he didn't say anything.

"You are indeed. We'll go over the plan tonight if you want, but I'm thinking we should leave it until Saturday morning to act. It seems old Gilbert is quite the drinker, spending most Friday nights down at the Badger and Basilisk. With any luck we'll catch him sleeping or hung-over at the very least," said Regulus.

Sirius no idea who 'old Gilbert' was, or even what they would be doing. Something about a book though. He hoped no violence would be involved, but with the Death Eaters you never knew. "Right you are Reg," he replied.

"Very good, cousin, should be fun then."

Cousin. That was strange too. Sirius wasn't quite sure what was stranger: to call his brother 'cousin', or to think of this doppelganger from another dimension as 'brother'. Probably the second one was stranger.

Nonetheless, he still thought of this Regulus as a brother, and called him his cousin. It was, after all, an intrinsic part of his cover story. Even now, Sirius was still bemused at how easily his story had slotted with the realities of the situation, aided in no small part by the naivety – if it could be called that – of his brother.

After exiting the Veil, Sirius had found himself in a post-apocalyptic Ministry of Magic, from which he entered a similarly lifeless Diagon Alley, before he apparated into Grimmauld Place. That's where the situation spiralled out of control. More out of control than it had been previously, at least. If that was possible.

Inside he had found himself face-to-face with a very startled Regulus Black.

The lack of recognition his brother showed when Sirius had announced his name was enough to tip him off that things might be different regarding himself on this side of the Veil. A quick glance at the Black family tapestry had been enough to confirm such doubts, and give Sirius his cover story. A black scorch mark between Cassiopeia and Dorea Black (two of his despised great-aunts) had jarred his memory of a squib great-uncle Marius, who had been always been pointedly _not talked_ about. Clutching at straws, Sirius had claimed to be his son.

It had been a clever ruse. Whilst squibs were despised amongst the pureblooded elite of the Wizarding world, the children of squibs were still considered to be of pure blood, although admittedly not of the highest quality. That too conveniently explained how he had so easily entered the ancestral home of the Black family. The clincher, though, had been Kreacher. On the other side of the Veil, Regulus had always had a close (Sirius had sometimes thought unhealthy) relationship with the decrepit house elf and on this side it was no different. So when the despicable little beast had mentioned that he remembered old Uncle Marius, and that Sirius did indeed have the same "dirty squibbish look" about, well that had been the clincher. Welcome back to the family and all that.

Until then, Sirius had not known such a combination of happiness and revulsion to be possible at the same moment.

From there he had learned that Regulus was still a member of the Death Eaters, and in fact one of the Dark Lord's favoured lieutenants, which had in turn led to Sirius' joining. It would have been suspicious if he hadn't. At least that's what he kept telling himself. The priority was finding Harry, and the best way to find Harry was to stay at the centre of things – if the centre was held by Death Eaters then so be it.

And he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. Not the Death Eating, obviously. Never the Death Eating. But being back with his brother was invigorating, and kind of... fun. Without James around anymore, with Lupin barely around either, and Harry stuck in Hogwarts for most of the year, Sirius had grown lonely. He'd forgotten how much he missed his little brother. And his brother, left alone with Kreacher for so long, also seemed desperate for some level of human contact. Maybe that was why he had accepted Sirius' story a little _too_ readily.

* * *

A low snarling broke Sirius from his thoughts, and he looked up to see the werewolf Greyback with a hand in his brother's chest. A big, hairy, clawed hand at that. "I've been meaning to have a little word with you Black," the beast rasped.

Regulus tried not to back down under the fierce gaze and bared teeth of the brute before him, but the fear was plain to see in his eyes. "W-what about?"

Greyback made a strange noise in his throat, and after a moment Sirius realised it was laughter. But not really. A crude mockery of laughter coming from a monster that had never _quite_ understood humour.

"You're kidding with me aren't you Reggie? Always the little joker. You know damn well what about."

Regulus might know, but Sirius didn't. Slowly he edged his way to stand behind his brother. Although the Dark Lord would punish any violence between Death Eaters severely, it was never clever to take any chances with Fenrir Greyback.

"Not now, not here Fenir," his brother pleaded, holding up his hands in a placatory manner. Submissive. "We can talk later."

_Now that _is_ interesting,_ thought Sirius._ Just what was going on here?_

"Later. It's always later with you. I wonder if you'll still be saying 'later' when I rip out your throat and feed you to my pack."

Sirius put a supportive hand on his brother's shoulder and bared his teeth. The werewolf may talk big, but Sirius knew how to handle werewolves. They were like dogs really, just bigger. And a lot meaner.

Regulus whined in response. "Come on, Fenrir. You know you can't do that. The Dark Lord – I'm protected – he'd kill you. You know that."

"that may be, but I can still scratch up that pretty face of yours. Maybe give you a little... nip."

The threat dangled in the air momentarily before Sirius stepped in. He spoke to his brother, but his grey eyes fixed the werewolf in his gaze. "You know cousin; I think this fellow might be a little on the slow side. He doesn't i seem to grasp what the Dark Lord will do to him if he lays a finger on you."

Greyback snarled again, thrusting a clawed hand at Sirius' throat. Although he deftly stepped back, the beast's nails still scraped against his skin. "Do you want me to kill you?" he growled.

"Well that's a stupid question isn't it? Obviously I don't. Like I said Regulus: this one's a little bit nutty," Sirius retorted, pulling a face and twirling his finger near his temple.

Greyback's eyes widened and his lips pulled back to reveal some surprisingly long – and sharp – canine teeth. But before he could make a move a voice interrupted them.

The cut-glass, nasal whine was unmistakable. "And do you know what I think is... nutty?" asked a certain Lucius Malfoy, pausing with obvious distaste over the last word. "Calling the clearly irate werewolf – who has shown no previous inhibitions when it comes to attacking those that irritate him – 'nutty'. In fact I might say that is positively moronic."

Sirius had to admit he made a good point.

"So if you chaps would all run along and stop making a scene in my manor I would be very appreciative. Otherwise I might let slip to our master which one of you has been passing secrets to Albus Dumbledore," Lucius continued.

Greyback looked dumbfounded, and Regulus hardly seemed any better. "I – what – I would _never_ do such a thing! Who said so? I swear on my honour as a Black –"

Lucius smiled archly, cutting off the protests. "I didn't say any of you _were_ passing secrets, I'm merely reminding you that I have the Dark Lord's ear on such matters. A spymaster can make mistakes as easily as any other man, after all."

Needless to say, they all left without a fuss. Lucius Malfoy had that effect on people. But even as they stepped out into the gardens, neatly sidestepping a cawing peacock, Sirius realised there was something more going on. He needed to find out what was going on between Regulus and Greyback. It was a hunch, nothing more, but somehow Sirius _knew_ it was important. And even more importantly, he _needed_ to find his godson. Life was not getting any less complicated.


End file.
